


100 Drabble Challenge for Hatter/Knave

by unsettled



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: Community: 100 on 100, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Challenge from the 100 drabbles comm for Hatter/Knave. <br/>31-40 were written for/during the Advent Challenge '13</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

*

1 – Dagger  
Even as he reels back, hand stinging, bleeding profusely, he thinks he should have known better. Tarrant may be mad, but he's far from unobservant, and his aim hasn't lost any of it's deadly accuracy despite the numbed fingertips. Tarrant was never without something sharp and wicked and deadly; Stayne remembers the adventure that undressing him could sometimes be. It was one thing to encounter a small sliver of a knife strapped to a pale arm, another entirely to find six, and another nestled against the small of his back, two more tucked neatly inside the breast of his coat.

*

2 – Red   
He never thought he'd actually find himself missing it, the lurid, unrelenting hue that stains everything at his queen's court, but surrounded by white – not even a proper color, merely the absence of color, a mockery of color, just as everything here was, a mockery of purity, righteousness, pretending there was no death, no decay, no cancer eating at the realm's heart, pretending that the absence of honesty was it's own damn virtue – surrounded by colorless walls and plants and bodies, he longed to slice open one of those mindless courtiers and see if anything in this place was red.

*

3 – Memory  
It lulls him for a moment, just long enough to make his heart stop, the sight of tea cups and plates piled high with baked goods, the ridiculously long table and wildly mismatched settings. It's bittersweet, a memory he has kept hidden away.

_"Do you take sugar?"   
He hadn't even meant to sit; he had places he needed to be, people to torture, and a tea party – a tea party – was the last thing he should be wasting his time on. Right up there with colorful, tantalizing, completely inappropriate hatters.   
The hatter smiled at him.  
"Please."_

He wasn't always mad.

*

4 – Lost  
He's a poor loser, he'll admit it, which is why he's learned to twist situations, tangle the facts with half truths and outright lies. He's a master at making any outcome success for himself, switching sides, dropping loyalties, pledging services and his word - and any fool should know that's a worthless thing.

Tarrant shaking in his arms, his mind drifting away while his body convulses, and Ilosovic cannot bring himself to twist madness into usefulness at the cost of his heart. Some loyalties are too deep; this time, he may end up losing, no matter which path he takes.

*

5 – Mouse  
Sometimes, Mallyumpkin thinks, being small is a gift. For instance, if she was any bigger, the Knave would have seen her, and if he'd seen her, she wouldn't be able to help Hatter. Yep, sometimes she doesn't mind being small at all.

It also means she gets to see things that aren't meant for other's eyes. Like what's happening right in front of her. She's ready to leap to Hatter's defense if need be, but even chained up, he's fully capable of fending off such unsubtle advances.

If he weren't such a bastard, she'd almost feel sorry for the Knave.

*

6 – Brown  
"I don't care for it."

Tarrant is unconvinced. "Everyone," he says, sliding closer, "like chocolate."

Illosovic rolls his eyes. "Everyone except me. Honestly, Tarrant, let it be. After all, it just means more for you."

"Mmm.." Tarrant smiles, and that alone is enough to make Illosovic wary. "A convincing argument, but...," his fingers curl against the back of Illosovic's neck, eyes half closed, and Tarrant tugs him down, presses their mouths together. Tarrant's tongue is teasing him, wet and warm and tasting strongly of chocolate, and Illosovic decides that, if offer in this manner, he might like chocolate after all.

*

7 – Rose  
He doesn't know what he's thinking, he really doesn't, especially after the debacle with the tarts. Which he still doesn't understand; but he should know better than to try and apply reason to anything his queen does. He'll be in the stew for sure if anyone catches him; bad enough that he's sneaking off to see someone so closely allied with the queen's rival, but with this particular armful…

"Um," he says as Tarrant opens the door, and it was worth it after all, just to see his face light up as he takes in the abundance of red roses.

*

8 – Life  
His eyes may be viewing the barren and desolate wasteland of a horizon before him, but he's not really seeing it, mind focused on plots and plans and memories. Which is fine, actually; he's had enough of desolation to last a lifetime, and it's only been weeks since he was banished. Since _they_ were banished, and he closes his eyes at the sound of a shrill, commanding voice. How they haven't killed each other yet he'll never know. He wouldn't call this living; but he wouldn't call anything that doesn't include a certain green eyed madman a life worth living.

*

9 – Pain  
There is pain, _agony in his head, sight suddenly halved and blurred with tears, depth perception gone wrong, he'll never be able to handle a sword with any accuracy again_; there is pain, _prove his loyalty, and his body is twisting on itself, every step like knives in his bones, cutting their way out, and no one said it would be like this_; and then, then, there is _pain_. The closest companion, closer than any shadow, any lover, _more madness than not, and where did it come from, how could they think it was betrayal when it was merely survival_.

*

10 – Bar  
"Tea?" Tarrant asks, tilting his head as he accepts the flask from Ilosovic.

"Not quite," he answers, "but it will warm you up…" Tarrant merely grins.

An hour later, they are cheerfully sloshed, hostility set aside for companionable truce. Tarrant, he discovers, is a rambling drunk – not that he doesn't ramble when he's sober, or as close as he ever gets – but now he's almost unintelligible, his thick underland accent wrecking havoc on both his words and Ilosovic's thoughts. He's just drunk enough for it to be tempting, to do something stupid.

Apparently they're both drunk enough for something regrettable.

*


	2. Chapter 2

*

11 – Promise  
They'd never said – they'd never spoken about it, speaking made things real – they'd never made promises, but all the same, all the same, there were things, not that they were vows, just, _things_, that were always true, that always happened, no matter what, because that was how they worked, and after all, they didn't need words to make it real, right? Right? Ilosovic always showed up, and Tarrant always looked up with a smile that wasn't relief. Always.

So Tarrant was going to sit here, just, sit here, until Stayne showed up, and if he never did … well. They'd never promised.

*

12 – Tree  
"Did the tree do something to you?"

Tarrant starts; he hadn't even heard Ilosovic get up. "It's … I don't remember what it's called," and he can't get across in words what he really means. That he knows what kind it is, or at least, he did, yesterday, or the day before, or any number of days ago, the knowledge was there, just waiting for him need it. It was there, he's sure of it, and now, now it's gone. There's a hole where it used to be, bigger than the name of a tree, and he wonders what else he's lost.

*

13 – Death  
Chessur's speaking, but he hasn't been paying attention. It's easy to tune out the voices that are real; too easy, he thinks. He'll die tomorrow; everyone fears dying, but Tarrant's uncertain as to why. He's heard it described as one long, final sleep, and that, that is something he could welcome. He hasn't slept well in (not since there were long legs and arms wrapped around him) in a very long time. He wouldn't mind that, but he wonders how they know what it's like without dying themselves; he closes his eyes and wishes for the sleep of the dead.

*

14 – Love  
"Goddamnit, Tarrant. Why do I still love you?"

It's a harsh whisper from a dark corner, but Tarrant knows the voice. He closes his eyes. _Off kilter smiles, fingers caught round each other on a tea cup, a look that asks for trouble and begs for more. Maybe it had been accident, the first time they fell into bed together, maybe it was fate, but by the fourth time, the fifth, they both knew it was something more than lust. Lust doesn't make a kiss, a glance, a word, as valuable as a quick fuck. _

"I don't know," he whispers.

*

15 – Chocolate (DARK CHOCOLATE BWAHAHA … I'm so sorry. I couldn't help myself.   
There's no chocolate at his table.

Mallyumpkin calls it a cruel waste, and the march hare says it … well, what he says doesn't make much sense, and you'd have to be mad as a march hare to understand. Chessur always asks, but Tarrant knows he's merely being provoking, and so doesn't give him the satisfaction of an answer.

_His eyes were closed, and those longer fingers were feeding him chocolates, lingering over his lips, and he wasn't surprised when a mouth replaced finger, taste like the bitterest, darkest chocolate on his tongue…_

Too many memories. There's no chocolate at his table.

*

16 – Mind  
He isn't certain when exactly his mind became what it is now – a hostile landscape of traps and pits and sharp edges. His thoughts have a different flavor to them, one he's not sure he can trust, and it's a terrible thing when you can't even trust yourself. For instance, he's almost certain that Stayne was no longer someone he could trust, but _almost _wasn't good enough. He's entirely certain the answer is in his memories, but they're hiding in the maze that is his past, and he daren't go in there, for fear he'll never find his way out.

*

17 – Leaf  
The seasons are changing; if you're careful and pay attention, you can feel the first breeze of autumn stirring the leaves. Tarrant is very careful; this is his favorite time. Illosovic is not so fond – he mutters about death and the inevitability of winter, but Tarrant always quiets him with a kiss when he gets started on that.

"Look," he says, plucking one of the first leaves from the air. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's the same shade as your hair," Ilosovic says, and Tarrant shoots him a sidelong glance. "That is," Ilosovic whispers, scooting closer, breath heating Tarrant's neck, "yes."

*

18 – Destruction  
Everything's burning, and Tarrant hits the ground hard, mind full of screams and disbelief and fire. It can't be real, it wasn't Ilosovic who struck him down, surely; but some things he cannot unsee, and the sight of his (_former?_) lover wreathed by flame and soot is one of them.

When he rises, they are all gone, all those who can still move. The buildings are skeletons still limed with fire, trees blackened husks, the ground marred by sooty patches. Tarrant stands, his eyes drawn to a hat, his hat, barely touched.

He settles it firmly, and Hatter walks away.

*

19 – Hate  
He hadn't hated the red queen, not really. Oh, he'd joined the rest of the court in professing his undying hatred of the bloody big head, but he hadn't felt anything more than a mild dislike and slight bit of pity.

He hadn't hated her until Stayne came back, came back thinner and darker and missing an eye, replaced by a heart shaped patch. Hadn't hated until Stayne pushed away his questioning fingers, refused to answer him, refused to look at him. "I belong to her now," he'd said, and Tarrant had asked, heart in his throat,

"And only her?"

*

20 – Doorknob  
"How is a doorknob like a rabbit?"

"…what?"

"Or a raven like a writing desk?"

Ilosovic sighs and shifts to lean on one elbow. "I don't know. How are they alike?"

Tarrant blinks at him. "How should I know?"

"What? But," and Ilosovic sputters for a moment. "Why did you even ask if you don't know?"

There's a moment of stillness, and then Tarrant speaks, low and slightly hesitant. "I was hoping _you_ would."

He watches Ilosovic struggle for words, watching him with that slightly worried, overly careful look. "Oh, Tarrant," he settles on finally, and Tarrant closes his eyes.

*


	3. Chapter 3

*

21 – Inside  
Tarrant is far from still beneath him, and Ilosovic wishes he would stop twisting for a moment; Tarrant feels so fragile, so easily breakable, and Ilosovic is afraid he won't be able to be careful for much longer if Tarrant doesn't stop moving like _that_ right _now_. "Be still," he hisses, and Tarant grins up at him, shifts his hips and moans, whines, eyes fluttering shut, hands sliding against Ilosovic's chest. He bites back a moan of his own, and moves, slowly, careful, panting as he slides further into Tarrant, who doesn't seem to have a pain threshold at all.

*

22 – Sand  
There is sand in his shoes, in his gloves, in his teeth even, every step sliding, sinking, like walking on water, and he hates the desert, hates everything about this wretched situation. There is sand even in his eyes, but he thinks that's because he hasn't slept in _days_, because if he closes his eyes, even for one second, it seems, that big headed freak chained to him will go for the dagger, his little gift from Tarrant (not that he meant it as a gift, he's sure, but he will, as always, take what he can from the man).

*

23 – Hallucination  
Tarrant stares at him, his eyes a curious shade of orange, and runs a finger along the edge of his face. "Well," he says, "it's certainly a very good hallucination. Most of them aren't so," and he pokes Ilosovic, hard, "solid."

Ilosovic's heart is in his throat. "I'm not…" he starts, and Tarrant stops him with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, that's what they all say." Ilosovic stares at him, then presses forward, steals a kiss from those pink tinged lips. Tarrant sighs against his mouth.

"And that's what they all do. I wish … if only you were real."

*

24 – Desperation  
His mind is searching, running through thoughts and memories for something to throw to the queen, because he's seen her this angry before and knows she won't hesistate to behead him.

"We still have her companions," and he listens to his mouth run on with a sense of horror. Not them, not them in exchange, it's hardley worth it, what is he thinking? Not Tarrant…he has to get out of here before he's turned into something terrible, with no conscenious and no limits; but it's already too late.

She takes the bait, willingly, he thinks, and screams for their heads.

*

25 – Goodbye  
He wonders if he should stop by the hat shop, if he should say goodbye; he almost doesn't, but at the last moment his feet take him there anyway.

Tarrant looks to be having one of his good days, surrounded by fabrcis and ribbons and fripperies, hands drawing designs in the air, assistants hanging on his every word. Stayne smiles at the sight; it's one he's seen a hundred times, and Tarrant only looks more desirable every time. He steps forward.

"Yes?" Tarrant asks, without a hint of recongition.

And Ilosovic remembers that he's said goodbye a long time ago.

*

26 – Over  
He's late; this is the first tea party since the red queen's defeat, and he's expecting quite the affiar.

What's he's not expecting is the Knave, looking wild and throughly unsettled as he pins Hatter to the table, knocking off tea cups and saucers. Hatter lets him; the Hare knows this, because a moment later Stayne says something, and Hatter strikes, dagger twisting up to open Stayne's belly, and he falls, looking surprised. Hatter stares at him, then drops the knife and begins to cry, soundlessly.

Well. He guesses the party's over.

*

27 – Desert  
There are no words for how it feels to watch Tarrant go mad. How it feels to see him shake, see him lose track of his surroundings, see him realize it himself. He can hold him still, he can tell him where he is, but there is nothing he can do for that terrible moment when Tarrant comes back to himself, finds the hole where there should be memories; there's nothing he can do to take away the despair in those eyes as they fade from orange to green.

Nothing except run, and pray that someday, he can be forgiven.

*

28 – Illusions  
There is a moment, right after he has broken away from the red queen's court, the only home he has ever known, that he feels free. He feels like he could go anywhere, do anything, that for once, just once, there is no judgement riding him.

He goes to the court of the white queen, drawn by the opposite of what he's familiar with. (and maybe by the wildfire of a man that is Tarrant Hightop, all sidelong glances and wicked smiles and pale skin), and still, he feels free. He makes his own choices.

Like all illusions, it shatters.

*

29 – Hope  
Tarrant's not a man for romance, for long entanglements, and Ilosovic knows this. Knows that this … thing between them, whatever it is, has lasted longer than any, but still, he steps firmly on any hope that might rise in his chest when Tarrant turns to him with a smile and an invitation.

He's careful never to ask for more than what he's given, but one night he is not careful enough. "I love you," he whispers, and he was sure Tarrant was asleep, sure, but his eyes are opening, pale globes in the moonlight.

He smiles, and hope rises again.

*

30 – Meat  
In the end, that's the essence of the problem; Tarrant is mad, and Ilosovic is not.

"You're mad," he tells Tarrant.

Tarrant gives him a bright, brittle smile. "Does it matter?"

_Yes_, he wants to say. _Of course it matters_. "How long do you really think you can last?"

Tarrant's smile turns to something fragile around the edges. "Will you stay if I give you a number?" and it is wounded, sharp with anger.

"I'm sorry," Ilosovic says. "I don't know how to deal with this."

He reaches out, touches Tarrant's hand lightly. In the end, there is no problem.

*


	4. Chapter 4

31 – Forest  
He is running, and he thinks _small girl, seen her before, mustn’t find her_ he knows why, but there were other times he ran through this forest _taunting, long limbs tangling in what he can slide between_ even other times he had the same pursuers _and the other's laughing too, no curses this time, and when he catches Tarrant, they will fall to the ground, laughing_, and he wants them to catch him, doesn’t he?

They do, and for a moment _“You caught me,” smiling up, tilting his head, offering_ he wants to say something that doesn’t fit this moment. 

*

32 – Planet  
They are like planets, he thinks, or maybe more like moons. Yes, that fits better – pale faces spinning round and round their in their orbits, their queens, (red, white, when there used to be neither) exerting force on each of them, pulling them in, binding them fast. Except moons never meet, never intersect, never _want_ to touch; or when they do, it is disaster, a collision, everything set off its proper course.

His hips buck up against the – his – knave’s clever, teasing hands; “Yes,” he hisses, and maybe that fits after all, because this is sure to become a disaster. 

*

33 – In the Woods  
He’s slumped over Ilosovic’s chest, listening to the unfaltering beat of his heart. It’s constant, one thing he can fix his mind on as an anchor, never shifting out of alignment with the rest of the world. It may speed, as it has just done, or it may slow, as it is now, but it continues. 

“I have to go back.”

He doesn’t say anything, only nestles his head more firmly, begging the heartbeat to drown out words, drown out reason and logic. 

“Tarrant… there’s leaves in my hair. And in yours.”

He’s always leaving, always taking away the constant. 

*

34 – Play  
Maybe he shouldn’t have laughed, but he’s been in prisons before. He’s been threatened with death before, but always, always, they find a way not to deliver. In the end, they are always uneasy about executing a madman, mad fool, wise fool, the world turns around him like a fixed point. Never mind that he reaps none of the benefits. 

But Staynsie's concern is… endearing, if unnecessary. “It’s not a game, Hatter,” he hisses, and for a moment his distress is overlaid with anger.

Tarrant laughs again. _Everything’s a game_, he thinks. _You just have to know how to play._

*

35 – Straw  
“Ow,” and Ilosovic sits up sharply, dislodging Tarrant, who mutters unhappily. Ilosovic glares at him. “Whose bright idea was it to drag me down and, and ravish me in a pile of, of, of hay?” he says, getting warmed up for a proper rant. 

“Straw,” Tarrant interjects, closing his eyes and leaning back against Ilosovic, who wraps an arm around him. 

“What?”

“It’s straw. Not hay.”

Ilosovic gives him a long look. “Hay, straw, whatever it is. It pokes. And it’s uncomfortable. And…”

Tarrant silences him quite effectively. An enjoyable few moments pass, and then,

“I still hate straw.”

*

36 – Enemy  
The red queen is coming, and hope is spilling from the white court faster than the queen can reassure them. The enemy is at the gates, they say, and where is our champion? Where is she?

She changed her mind, and so Hatter has to deal with it, has to be the one to leave the red queen’s mark on pristine stone floors. It’s so messy; if only she had the sense to stick with refusal, this wouldn’t be necessary. Stayne would agree with him; has agreed with him.

The enemy isn’t at the gates. The enemy is already here.

*

37 – Cave  
The knave is relentless, and when his words don’t achieve the desired affects, he moves on to actions, hands burning Tarrant’s skin, somehow making the asking into a command, but Tarrant’s never been any good at obeying. He twists away, turns away from those tempting lips, that deliciously long body, folded down to match him. 

“Wait,” the knave says, breathless. “What is it you want of me?” 

Tarrant should know better than to look back, but he does; does and caves in to inevitability. He doesn’t have to understand to enjoy it.

If he did, he’d never have any fun.

*

38 – Invisible  
Madness, Tarrant discovers, has an unusual and fascinating side effect. It makes him invisible. 

Not truly invisible, to be sure, but close enough. People’s eyes slide over him, their minds don’t register his presence, they continue to talk as though he can’t hear them. Somehow, without paying him any mind, they manage to never come into contact, as though they are afraid madness might be catching. And what does he know – it might.

Which is why he finds himself pinned by the sharp gaze of the red queen’s knave, a man who seems to have his own seed of madness. 

*

39 – Hide  
His breath is coming fast, frantic rabbit heartbeats of distress, and he covers his mouth with his hand. They mustn’t find him; he can hear them scrabbling at the door, searching, and be very quiet, very still, don’t move don’t breathe don’t think, and if they find you. If they find you. 

He closes his eyes, tighter, tighter, and if you can’t see them they can’t see you, except he doesn’t think it works that way.

“Tarrant! What are you doing?”

He knows that voice, it’s Staynsie, and that’s alright, because Staynise will chase them away, will keep him safe. 

*

40 – Accident  
“Tarrant.”

“Yes?” he says, and it’s light and playful, and you never admit to anything until they’ve got the evidence in front of you, irrefutable.

“Tarrant…”

“It was an accident,” he blurts out, and whoops, he hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean, what?”

“Tarrant! An accident? Do you really expect me believe an accident caused this?” Ilosovic shoves the mangled gloves under Tarrant’s face. 

“Well, it’s not _my_ fault that Chessur got into the special catnip, and it was that or my hat, and really, that’s hardly a choice.” He grins, a match to Chessur’s. “I’m sure he’s sorry…”


End file.
